Desperate
At twenty-three, Min Siyoon was a young man who was healthy in both body and spirit, aside from his poverty. Even with debts hanging over him and dirty looks from those around him, he endured hunger by scavenging discarded food scraps now and then—a testament to his unyielding will to live, for better or worse.
He'd contemplated suicide once or twice, but that passed quickly. A good night's sleep, an early morning shift at the construction site, and a hearty bowl of gukbap for lunch would scatter those dark thoughts like dust in the wind.
Sure, he'd been stiffed on wages more than once after taking shady jobs without contracts out of desperation, but he never gave up. He hated excuses like "no parents" or "no money," so he worked even harder. With bones and flesh ground to dust, he'd clawed his way out of that mountain of debt.
Anyway, the tough-as-nails Min Siyoon couldn't wrap his head around certain types of people he'd heard about in passing: those with mental illnesses, the depressed, or folks paralyzed by trauma, unable to function. How can someone like me—a total dirt-poor loser—keep going, while rich bastards whine about being depressed? What kind of bullshit is that? They're just lacking grit. Why can't they shake it off? That's what I used to think.
But not anymore.
It was just that only fears I could overcome ever came my way. Losing my parents? Manageable. Skipping school and bouncing between construction sites because of debt? Survivable. That's why trauma and depression never chained me down.
Realizing that, I bit back tears as creeping terror made my body tremble.
Sensations no man would know assaulted me vividly: filthy tentacles surging forth, violating my body. It felt like that rift-tearing agony was piercing me again right now. It wasn't pleasurable at all. The sticky, repulsive memory—something I couldn't escape on my own—seemed to ravage my brain, choking off my breath.
If only I could go mad and forget everything.
And amid it all, I didn't want another slap, so I screamed in silence. That voiceless cry tore at my heart instead of someone's eardrums.
Please. Just drop me anywhere. Let me go.
"H-heuk... h-heu... h-heuk!"
No, I should beg the hero. If it's not the bed, even if it takes time, I could properly plead to be spared.
Or... could I? I can't even be sure myself.
Uncertain about the hero's offer, I barely steadied my writhing body and twisted toward him.
Please, not on the bed right now. If you put me down, I'll do it then. Don't throw me away.
With that desperate plea in my mind, I crawled awkwardly toward the manhood exposed between his legs.
It might have been sheer survival instinct, raw determination to live—but right now, I was grateful for it as I gasped ragged breaths.
As I inched closer and reached out, the hero swiftly pulled back.
"You think I'd be pleased if you did it looking like that?"
"I-I'll make you feel good... b-believe me..."
I had no idea why I had to take a man's cock in my mouth to survive, but if it meant living, I could endure it a few times. Probably. Forever? No way. But death was too terrifying, so I had no choice.
My voice shook, but I forced my lips into a smile. The softness enveloping me kept raising goosebumps, but if I could just keep my wits, I had to fight not to die.
Past memories strangled my throat, making it feel like violation loomed again. Terrifying. Barely holding on, I reached out once more and grasped the hero's cock.
"H-heu."
A choked groan escaped as my hand closed around the base. The unpleasant texture and sickening warmth seeped into my palm.
Why the hell do I have to touch this?! I wanted to yank away, but showing that would send me straight to hell.
I slid my dry hand up slowly, as if stroking rough skin. When it first brushed the glans, even I flinched—and the hero seemed to twitch too.
Can't I just use my hands? This is uncomfortable enough.
But as if reading my mind, he scowled and shoved me lightly.
"Why do you keep using your hands? I said mouth. Change position and start over."
Shoved aside, I stared blankly at him, then watched dazedly as he leaned against the headboard.
He clearly wanted me to crawl between his legs and suck him off.
Back then, I'd have snapped, Don't talk shit, you bastard. But now, I just crawled silently between his thighs, staring at the limp cock.
Not even fully erect yet, but thanks to my earlier touch, it showed faint signs of life.
How the hell do you even do this with your mouth? Can anyone really put something this disgusting inside?
Gazing at it while gauging his mood, I drew a breath to start—but doubt flooded me. This revolting shape, feel, smell—could anyone really take it in their mouth?
"U-uek..."
It was torture. Mentally crushing, stomach convulsing from the stench, nothing felt good.
I didn't even know why things had come to this. My gut twisted. This was inside me? No wonder it hurts down there.
Painful memories surged vividly, furrowing my brow without thinking.
But I'd promised I could do it, begged him to believe me. Backing out now would kill his mood for sure.
So I wedged my thumb and forefinger deep into the base of the still-limp shaft, holding it steady. Then I brought my face close.
The hero stayed silent, perhaps waiting since I'd insisted—so I had to endure the quiet and move.
As my trembling lips neared, the smell hit, nausea surged from the unpleasant heat, vomit rose—but I held it down.
I squeezed my eyes shut and took the cock in my mouth.
I knew it was utterly repulsive, even if it was for survival.
What can you do? If I'm discarded, it'll be worse than this. More torture devices in medieval times than in my modern world.
If I couldn't endure the unbearable, I had to stick to what I could. Swallowing hard, I steeled myself.
Finally, I got the glans in—and my mouth already felt full. Burying my face in a man's crotch spiked my disgust sky-high.
The glans pressed against my tongue, goosebumps erupting everywhere. My body jerked from the urge to puke, but I avoided that disaster.
"You know what happens if you graze me with teeth, right?"
At his threat, I broke into cold sweat, trying my utmost.
It's gross, but I have no choice. Please, just this once, hear me out. The bed terrifies me, feels like bugs crawling everywhere—but hold on a little longer.
But... how do I even do this?
I'd begged to please him for my life, but now that it was in my mouth, I had no clue. My mind blanked; I just stayed still, mouth plugged.
Soon my empty stomach roiled. Trying to open wider and push deeper only hit my throat, triggering gag reflex—I floundered cluelessly.
"Heuk."
"You really have no idea, do you."
I figured yeah, since I'm so clumsy. I'd always kept a safe distance from men's dicks. No reason to get this close. Who'd want to unless they're insane?
But now, I felt pretty insane.
Save me. I don't want to die.
Hunger hurt, sleep deprivation wrecked me—but suffocating and getting beaten while raped? Worst of all.
So if this could settle it, I awkwardly bobbed my head. My stomach spasmed like I might hurl any second.
Still, eyes clenched shut, I kept that massive thing in my mouth. My jaw ached like it might dislocate, but the hero ignored it, hand resting on my head.
Terror spiked—Is he grabbing my hair to yank and hit me? Instinctively, I clenched my right hand tighter on the root.
"Euk...! What the fuck are you doing, you bitch!"
His hair-grab yanked my head back; I hit the bed with a thud.
Sprawled, my eyes darted. A man's cock is both numb and sensitive—especially the shaft. Women's pleasure zones spread inside and out, like the clit, but men's concentrate in the glans. So the shaft's duller.
But it's still genitals, boneless, pressure-weak. I'd squeezed hard, so he grimaced in throbbing pain, glaring.
"S-sorry, I'm sorry...! I-I didn't mean to, I swear...! M-my jaw, it hurts so much, u-uek. Forgive me."
I begged frantically, desperately. But my over-wide mouth for that monster slurred my words. Groaning pleas, he tsked in annoyance.
"You said you'd do it, but can't even handle that? Useless. Totally fucking useless."
"O-one more chance... I-I'm new at this, that's why. Please, just one more..."
As I sniffled, he'd already lost interest—wiping his cock with a handkerchief, pulling up pants, buckling his belt.
Pants back on meant no more chances for me.
I'm dead. Sleep here tonight, gone tomorrow. Fuck, I'm screwed.
Dazed, he spat curses, tsked again, and stormed out.
Alone, my trembling body collapsed to the floor.
I'd tried holding back, thought survival instinct would carry me—but now, with him gone, alone, this softness felt nauseatingly repulsive.
"H-heuk, h-heuk...!"
Crashing down, I'd barely endured the trauma—or so I thought. But closing my mouth brought the lingering cock-smell assaulting my nose.
Memory flashed: sucking a man's dick, bobbing my head. Even for survival, it revolted me anew. The plush bed triggered vomit I couldn't hold.
"U-uek! Uwaaak! K-keuk, h-heuk."
Two spoonfuls of soup mixed yellow bile, splattering clear fluid. Seeing my puke soak the floor, my stomach quivered; I shuddered.
"H-heuk, w-why... why..."
Gasping roughly, I collapsed face-down, expression vacant.
I'd strived with pure will to live, but it crumbled to nothing. Just because I sucked at it.
First time—how the hell was I supposed to know? I was a guy; no experience like this.
Injustice burst into tears. Curled by my vomit, sobbing, I felt pathetic, frail.
"H-hic, h-heuk. P-please... s-someone... save me..."
Everything disgusted me. This world seemed unlivable; no strength left.
Yet part of me thrashed against death. Pointless now, though.
I lay there, tears flowing, body shivering at the terror of tomorrow. My future, my next day—too frightening.